Page 22 of Christmas Secrets

“Mayhap we can make them tomorrow.”

Percival looked over at the remaining logs on the hearth. “Holly, there is only enough wood to make it through the night, if at that. If we’re going to cook anything tomorrow, or want heat, we’ll have to go out first thing to collect wood.”

“We will,” she said, seeming suddenly sad.

After putting a few more logs on the fire, he picked up a broken log, having an idea. He sat down on a chair and pulled out his knife, resting his feet on the table.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, still washing the dishes.

“I figure if Henry misses his friends, then I’ll just have to carve him a new one.” He started to whittle.

“You know how to do that?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“I can’t say I’ve ever made a child’s toy before, but how hard can it be?”

Well, he found out exactly how hard it was, three hours later when he still didn’t have anything that remotely resembled a farm animal.

“I’m going to bed,” Holly announced with a yawn. He looked up to see her standing in her shift, holding a blanket in front of her. “Where will you sleep?”

“How big is that bed?” he asked, really wanting to share it with her.

“It wouldn’t be proper for you to sleep with me and my brother.”

“And neither is it proper to be wasting all our wood to end up with something like this.” He held up the toy he had been trying to carve.

“What’s that?” she asked, peering through the dark to see it. The room was only lit by the one taper candle that had almost burned down to a stub already.

“It’s Henrietta. Henry’s friend.” He held it up to show her.

“Is that supposed to be a... frog?”

“Nay,” he said, frowning. “It’s a pig. Can’t you tell?”

She giggled and climbed under the covers. “I’m sure Noel will love it. Good night.”

Percival turned the blob of wood one way and then another, but as hard as he tried, he really couldn’t think of this as a pig. He yawned, being very tired. Putting down his knife, he leaned his head back on the chair and once again rested his feet on the table. Damn, what he would give to be in a nice soft, warm bed right now instead of on a cold, hard chair in the midst of an almost-dead fire.

Tomorrow, things were going to change, he decided. Because if they were all going to be living here, then he had every right to sleep in the same damned bed.